


The Right Thing

by Sineala



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Anniversary, Avengers Vol. 7 (2017), Civil War (Marvel), Hydra Steve Rogers, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Secret Empire (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-17 02:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11265831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala
Summary: Today is a very important anniversary for Steve and Tony, and the fact that Tony's currently comatose isn't going to stop Steve from celebrating it.





	The Right Thing

**Author's Note:**

> What with the recent Cap-IM anniversary and the upcoming anniversary zine, anniversaries are in the air in this fandom lately.
> 
> Apparently this is what happens when I try to write anniversary fic. Whoops.
> 
> This is sort of a prequel to [The People Who Would Keep Us on Our Knees](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10978833) but you don't need to have read that to read this.
> 
> Thanks to Magic and Kiyaar for help bringing the pain.

It takes Steve three trips across the helicarrier: first comes the little folding table and tablecloth, along with the rose in its tiny vase; then the candles and the bowl of strawberries; and then, carefully, the fluted glasses, one in each hand. One has champagne; the other, sparkling water.

His SHIELD agents, Steve notes, with quiet pleasure, are either too well-trained or too thoroughly controlled to say anything. One or two of them glance up, the third time he comes back down the corridor, but then they quickly return to their duties. They know better than to interfere in his affairs.

They probably think he's going to see Sharon.

On the prisoner detention level, he hangs a left rather than a right, and he walks down the long hallway, all alone. The cameras have been disabled, the guards dismissed, and he swept it for bugs himself. Not that it matters, really, if anyone hears him. The one man he wishes would hear him isn't listening.

The heavy door whooshes open and Steve steps into the still, silent room.

He's moved in all sorts of medical equipment: screens, monitors, trailing wires and electrodes, all of them leading to the center of the room where Tony rests in his metal and glass box. His face and the top half of his chest are exposed. _An open-casket funeral_ , Steve thinks.

It's been six months, and the only thing Tony has done is breathe.

God, but he misses him.

Steve sets the glasses as gently as he can on the table. The champagne, he places on the side closest to him; the water is nearer to Tony. He fumbles in his belt pouch for a lighter, and then, in short order, two dancing flames reflect off the shining metal all around the room: the walls, the floor, Tony's enclosure. He drags a chair over and sits down.

He smiles.

"Happy anniversary, Tony."

Tony, of course, says nothing.

He's not sure whether Tony can hear him. All the readouts indicate that Tony shouldn't be able to, but Tony's always been special. Steve knows this intimately. And there's no harm in talking to him as if he does hear him. It makes Steve feel a little less lonely.

He used to wonder, sometimes, if Tony had talked to him in the ice, while they'd been waiting for him to wake up. If Tony had already welcomed him to the world.

The ice wasn't real. Not quite like that. Not all the way. He never fell, not from Zemo's drone plane. He blinks and shakes his head, and the true reality washes over him: he remembers the cave, stepping into the cool, magical waters, letting them protect him from the Allies' Cosmic Cube.

Steve clears his throat. "I know I was... unkind to you, the last time I visited," he says. "I was brash. Arrogant. So I've thought about it, and I realize now that I owe you an apology." He can feel himself grimace.

This is going much better than any other time he's ever tried to apologize, though. Tony doesn't talk over him, doesn't protest. Tony only lies there placidly, waiting. It's almost refreshing.

He pauses to sip his champagne, to nudge the water closer to Tony. "I'm not a monster," he adds. "I wouldn't have brought you alcohol. I didn't bring you alcohol. I know how important it is to you, Tony. Your need to be in control of yourself." He wishes he'd thought to sit nearer, to be able to pat Tony reassuringly. "I understand now. I understand so many things now. I feel so much closer to you than I ever did before, Tony." His throat starts to close around the words. "I told you before that he loved you. And I love you too. I really do love you. Not like _he_ did. But I love you better than he ever could have. I love you for who you _really_ are."

Sorrow still tugs at him. This won't do. He can't let his feelings overwhelm him. He takes a few calming breaths. He nibbles on a strawberry. He watches the candles flicker.

"You might be wondering," Steve tells him, "what anniversary we're celebrating, when we were never together."

Oh, it wasn't like he hadn't known. It wasn't like he hadn't wanted Tony. He used to think, sometimes, that he'd die with how much he'd wanted him, even back before he'd known Tony and Iron Man were the same man. Iron Man had caught him in midair in combat, or Tony had wandered upstairs from the fabrication area at three in the morning, a streak of oil on his cheekbone and a brilliant grin on his face, and Steve just... loved him. It was always there.

But somehow it had never happened. They'd never been in the right place at the right time. It had been a decade of near-misses. 

And then, of course, sometimes they'd been trying to kill each other.

Steve raises his glass, clinks it against Tony's, takes another sip. "It's June 14," he says.

Tony is silent and unmoving.

"You don't remember this," Steve says, "but four years ago today, the Superhuman Registration Act became law." He smiles. "You'll never remember it, I know. But _I_ remember it, Tony. And I'll remember it for both of us." He lets a little sigh escape him. "I've been thinking about it a lot lately, you see. And I realize that the last time I was here, I didn't give you enough credit. Hardly enough at all."

He's wondered, over the years, what Tony was doing, when Registration went into effect. When the clock ticked over to midnight. Steve had been in hiding then. He used to think Tony had been glorying in his power, relishing playing God.

But now he is where Tony was. It's not that easy.

"I understand why you did it now. Why you did everything you did for Registration."

As he told Tony before -- he thinks he told Tony this -- he's the director of SHIELD now. He's got Tony's old job. Not that Steve personally remembers more than the first few days of Tony's tenure. He didn't live that long. He remembers all the accusations he threw at him, perfect and pure in his eidetic memory, on what was to be their last meeting, on the last night of his life. He told Tony he was ill. He told Tony he sold his principles. He asked Tony how he could do this, how he could lay down with the people he'd lain down with. He remembers yelling after Tony, one last question: was it worth it?

Tony had never answered him.

"The world is so beautiful now," Steve murmurs. "I wish you were here with me. I wish you could see it."

SHIELD and Hydra's best scientists are working on a way to wake Tony up. Officially, Tony's listed as a future weapons consultant, which he will be whether he wants to or not; Steve's more than capable of ensuring that. Unofficially, he misses him. A lot.

"It's a difficult job," he tells Tony. "I'm not sure I understood that, how hard it must have been for you, until I tried to do it myself. But I studied everything you did. Registration. The Fifty-State Initiative. I even found those old Project Wideawake files." He lets himself smile. "We have better weapons than that now, of course. Far more destructive. But it was an inspiration. _You_ were an inspiration. So I want to thank you, because I couldn't have done it without you. I understand now what you were trying to do. You were trying to bring peace. To keep the world safe. To protect people from those who are different, those who could harm them. I see that now."

He gestures with his champagne flute, now half-empty. "And everything I do, Tony, all of it -- I ask myself, what would Director Tony Stark have done? So I've done it. I've finished it for you. I've brought peace." He smiles. "It's what you wanted Registration to be, isn't it? Everyone in their place. The mutants are in New Tian. A country all their own, where we can keep an eye on them. They won't act up. I'm sure enough of them remember Genosha." He clicks his tongue. "And as for the Inhumans, well... let's just say they won't be bothering anyone, hmm?"

It really is easier this way.

The registry by itself hadn't been enough. Steve's learned from Tony's mistakes. It's much easier to put people where you can see them. Tony had the right idea with the Negative Zone prison. Steve has merely extended it to its logical conclusion.

"You don't need to worry about the rest of the superhumans either." He picks idly at another strawberry. "Most of the heroes, the New York teams, they were trapped in the Darkforce Dimension when the barrier went up. And the cosmic teams, well, they're not coming back to Earth anytime soon." He smiles. "Don't worry, a few of them are still here. They've seen the light, most of them. I'm still working on the rest."

It is regrettable, the number of people that Steve will have to lose. They'd been his friends, once. But sacrifices must be made. Tony will understand that. Tony has always understood sacrifice.

"There's nothing to be afraid of anymore. People used to be afraid of us. Isn't that what you used to say? You said we had unchecked power. You said that we needed accountability." He studies Tony's body, still motionless. "We have that now. There are laws. There's order. Just like you wanted, Tony. I've done it."

Of course, there's resistance. There's always resistance. He'll put them down, soon enough.

He smiles again at Tony. "I know you'll be proud of me. I can't wait for you to see it."

Picking up his glass one last time, he clinks it against Tony's; the sound rings out in the quiet room. A toast.

"To peace," he whispers, "and to our future together." He smiles again; he can't help thinking of Tony waking up, of Tony seeing what he's built. "It was hard work, but you know what? It was worth it."

He drains the remainder of his champagne in two long swallows, then he sets the empty glass down, picks up Tony's water, and drinks it for him. There are only a few strawberries left in the bowl, so he eats them too. They're sweet on his tongue, bright and flavorful. He's always loved summer.

Steve pushes his chair back, stands up, and walks to Tony's side. Leaning down, he kisses Tony's cheek. Tony's skin is cool under his lips.

There is no reaction.

"Good night, Tony," Steve whispers in his ear. "I hope I'll see you again soon."

Delicately, Steve tugs off the glove on his right hand, and he sets his fingers to Tony's cheek. He maps out the firmness of Tony's jaw, the rough scrape of his stubble, the little dent where the edge of Tony's lips begins. Tony's flesh yields, unresisting, to Steve's touch. 

He's never been able to touch Tony like this. His old self wouldn't have dared to touch him out of love. He's only ever felt Tony's face with his fists. It's so much better this way.

Steve pats Tony's cheek once more, for good measure. Then he sighs and puts the glove back on.

He straightens up and goes back to the table. He blows out the candles. The room darkens, and wisps of smoke curl up into the air. He'll clean it all up in the morning. He turns and walks out the door, which closes solidly behind him, heavy and final.

In the empty room, a spike of green zig-zags across a monitor. A number changes. And very, very quietly, one of the machines hooked up to Tony beeps.

**Author's Note:**

> I would prefer not to discuss current comics in the comments of this story at this time, please.
> 
> [Tumblr post](http://sineala.tumblr.com/post/162097658114/fic-the-right-thing), if you want one.
> 
> The title is stolen from Civil War #2, from Tony's line to Happy the night that Registration becomes law ("Oh, God. Please let us be doing the right thing here."). Since Civil War #2 came out on June 14, 2006, I have borrowed the date for the SHRA's anniversary.
> 
> I don't think Nick Spencer has adequately explained as of the current state of Secret Empire how it is that Steve ended up in the future, since it's been made clear that he didn't go down with the drone plane. So I just sort of wrote around it.


End file.
